


Love is in the Little Things

by Luthien



Series: Luthien Does Writer's Month 2019 [1]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Common Cold, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Ficlet, Fix-It, Fluff, I mean it about the fluff!, Married Fluff, Writer’s month 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-01
Updated: 2019-08-01
Packaged: 2020-07-28 20:44:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20070313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luthien/pseuds/Luthien
Summary: Brienne has a cold, and Jaime worries.Prompt fill for Writer's Month Day 1: Annoyance.





	Love is in the Little Things

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Nire for looking this over for me, and making me rewrite one particular sentence even more times than I'd already rewritten it. Written in the middle of the night so, you know, keep that in mind.
> 
> In this universe, nothing bad happened to Jaime or Brienne after he followed her to her room that night in 8x04. The war happened, they survived, got married, and went back to Tarth. Then they lived a shockingly boring, domestic and happy life together.
> 
> Also: I never write fluff, but apparently I do for these two.

He and Brienne have slept side by side on so many occasions and in so many places over the years that Jaime lost count long ago. Forced together, chained together, tied together, drawn irresistibly together: it's long since melded into a single, overwhelming sense of rightness. The few nights he's slept without Brienne at his side since the war ended—since everything almost ended—and they came back to Tarth have left Jaime feeling odd and uncomfortable and _wrong_.

Tonight they're at home in bed together at Evenfall Hall, so things should be more than right, and yet... Things are odd and uncomfortable and not wrong, exactly, but not quite right, either.

Jaime thinks back to everything they've been through together, everything they've experienced, travelling and sparring with words and then swords, captive together, the loss of his hand and the incident with the bear, dealings with kings and queens and little lords puffed up with their own self-importance, his knighting her—the glorious smile on her face that night—and then fighting with each other in the better sense, back to back, as the dead came at them and came at them and came at them and somehow they both came out of it alive. After that came the first night they spent together as something more than comrades, as lovers, and all the nights since…

No, after thinking back over everything, Jaime's as certain as he can be that through all of their adventures and hardships, all of their many highs and lows, neither of them ever suffered the small, ordinary indignity of a cold. Not until now.

Tonight Brienne is suffering from a heavy head cold. Jaime has been caring and solicitous, the perfect husband faced with an adverse situation, even if he does say so himself. He was relieved when Brienne finally nodded off to sleep. She needs her rest. She needs to be able to stand tall and strong and _unsneezing_ again, for herself and for their people, and for him.

The only problem with Brienne's falling asleep is that now she's snoring. Loudly. It's impossible to ignore. Brienne never does anything delicately, and her snores are no exception. He's tried pulling the pillow over his head, but all that did was prevent him from breathing properly—and he could still hear her, anyway. He's tried stuffing little bits of cloth in his ears, but that left them itching, and the snores still came through loud and clear. He's tried just lying with his back to her and willing himself to sleep. All to no avail.

He sighs. He supposes he'll just have to sit here all night, awake. It's not like he hasn't stayed up all night before, and in the cause of people who meant far less to him. He can do it again.

Brienne stirs, and her eyes open. She sits up, sneezes, grabs a handkerchief from the teetering pile of fresh handkerchiefs on the nightstand, and blows her nose. It's red, like a fiery beacon even in the thin light of the single candle on Jaime's nightstand, and there are bags under her eyes. She looks exhausted.

"How are you feeling?" Jaime asks.

"Not too bad," Brienne croaks, and sneezes again.

Jaime lays the back of his hand against her forehead. "Your skin is still warm to the touch," he says, not quite succeeding in keeping the worry out of his voice.

"Why are you awake?" she asks. "You've had a long day. Have I been tossing and turning and keeping you from your sleep?"

Jaime can hear the concern in her voice, too. The thought of it keeps him warm at night on those rare occasions when her body is not there to do the job. "No," he says with imperfect truth.

Brienne eyes him consideringly, the clear blue gaze of hers one thing he knows he can never escape. "Have I been snoring, perhaps?" she asks, tilting her head a little to one side.

"Perhaps," he agrees.

"Why don't you get the maid to make up a bed in another chamber for you?" she says. "I don't mind." Her words come out slightly garbled thanks to her blocked nose, and it takes Jaime a moment to work out what a "baid bakig up a bed" might involve.

"Because being apart from you would be worse than listening to your snores," he says simply, with an honesty that is only ever for her. "At least if you're snoring, I know that you're safe."

"You romantic fool," she says with a fond smile.

Is he? He knows he's a fool for love of her, but is that the same as being romantic? C- some other lady would probably not think that there's anything romantic about having a cold. Such a lady would probably banish everyone from her bedchamber and stay there until the day came that she could emerge without a red nose or even so much as a sniffle.

Brienne is not like any other lady. That's why he's here, beside her: simply because there's nowhere else he'd rather be. A cold may be an annoyance, but still, it's an experience they've never shared before, something small and domestic and intimate and _theirs_. And that's really all Jaime wants. They've put all the big deeds behind them. Now is the time for small deeds, carried out in the cause of all the little, everyday trials and tribulations that make up ordinary married life—deeds that are all the more precious because neither he nor Brienne ever really thought they'd be granted the time together to carry them out.

"Go back to sleep," he says. "I'll be here, watching over you." He leans over to kiss her and she kisses him back with paper dry lips. "Have a sip of water first," he urges, trying to keep his voice calm and level. He will not let her see him fret.

"Yes, my lord husband," Brienne says, with what she obviously believes to be a demure look, though there's laughter lurking at the bottom of it. She obediently reaches for the cup of water beside the pile of handkerchiefs, and takes a careful sip, wetting her lips.

"Go to sleep, _wench_," he says. "You'll recover all the faster for a proper night's sleep."

"Good night, Jaime," she says, and reaches out to cup his cheek.

It's a gesture that never fails to silence him, and now is no exception. He stares into her eyes and sees everything that she makes no attempt to hide from him. It's a gift he never thought to earn, and yet she gives it freely.

Brienne lies down again, turns onto her side and closes her eyes. Within a minute or two she's breathing deeply, but through her mouth as much as her nose. And then the snoring starts up again.

Jaime watches her for a moment and decides he may as well at least try to get a little sleep. He blows out the candle by the bed, settles back against the pillows... and sneezes. Twice.

After blowing his nose, he pulls the covers up to his chin, but before he can snuggle up against his wife's long back he's gripped with yet another sneeze. Jaime sighs. It looks as if this particular annoying domestic experience is one that they are going to share in every way.


End file.
